Something To Live For
by Fantasygirl721
Summary: “I never should have come back, Sam... I was dead and I should have stayed dead... what could you possibly say to make that all right...” In a slow self-destructive spiral, Dean struggles to learn that maybe living after John's sacrifice is worthwhile.


Title: Something to Live For

Setting: Post CSPWDT

Rating: Teen

Summary: "I never should have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural and now look what's come of it. I was dead and I should have stayed dead. So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that all right..." After that conversation and desperate for another hunt to lose himself in, Dean drags Sam back to the Roadhouse, trying not to let the survivor's guilt destroy him, and failing miserably.

Author's Note: This is just a little plot bunny that I got after seeing last week's episode, "Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things", and I just had to write it. Now this is my first Supernatural fic, and I'm not sure how I did with Dean, so please leave a review and tell me what you think. Any and all reviews are welcome, flames and constructive criticism included.

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Something To Live For

"I never should have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural and now look what's come of it. I was dead and I should have stayed dead. So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that all right..."

Dean Winchester pulled up the Roadhouse, sliding into a parking space and cutting the engine of the Impala. He hopped out of the car, striding up towards the door before Sam could even move. "Hey Dean! Why exactly are we here again?"

He glanced towards Sam, his hazel eyes sweeping over his younger brother's disheveled appearance. He had drove them here straight from the mother's grave, stopping only for restroom and food breaks. And one time to talk. "I was thinking that, you know, maybe they'd have something for us to hunt."

Thankful for their differences in height, Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulder and spun him around, stopping him. "I know you blame yourself for what happened to Dad, but this endless hunting won't bring him back. All it's going to do is kill you."

"I'm fine, Sammy," He snarled, wrenching his shoulder out of Sam's grasp and stalking over to the entrance. "I know how to do my job, and I don't need any of your physiological-babble, college boy."

Shutting his mouth, Sam followed his brother into the Roadhouse, praying that Ellen got his message. Dean was already leaning against the bar, waiting as Ellen finished filling up a beer for a customer. When she came over, Dean flashed one of his million-dollar smiles that could open up almost any door. "So Ellen, how are you?"

"I'm fine," She replied as she looked the boys over. Despite his charming grin, Dean looked haggard, his stubble a little more pronounced than usual, his eyes slightly red around the edges, like he had been forcing back tears. Sam was standing behind him, his lanky arms half-wrapped about himself, as if he was tempted to hug himself. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and his forehead was wrinkled in worry. "But what about you two?"

"We're good." Dean interjected before Sam could even open his mouth; deliberately cutting him off. "But we were just wondering if you had any leads...maybe something that needs to be hunted."

Ellen quickly glanced over Dean at Sam, who moved his head in a barely perceptible shake. "Sorry boys," she said quickly, "but everything is under control. I've got nothing for you."

Dean's grin slid off his face, his shoulder sagging. "Nothing?" He asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Not even a mildly evil poltergeist?"

"No, nothing. Looks like you have at least one night off." She saw the look on his face, the subtle hardening of his features. "How about a beer? On the house, just for my two favorite customers."

"Yeah, sure." Dean was fiddling with his ring, eyeing the customers. _Damn, not even a decent looking chick. _The customers were men of all ages, some with dates, and apparently no single women. He felt a cold bottle being pushed into his hand, and he looked up to find Ellen smiling down at him. "Thanks."

She nodded towards a table, secluded in the corner and hidden in shadows. "That one's empty." He glanced towards, found it to his liking, and headed over.

As soon as Dean was out of earshot, Sam crossed over to the bar. "Thanks," he murmured.

"Not a problem Sam, I got your message. You're right, he does look burned out."

She pulled out another beer and passed it the younger Winchester.

"So is there anything?"

Ellen lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "There's an apparently vengeful spirit on the loose three towns over, but we can handle it." She looked at Dean, sitting alone, his eyes glazed and unfocused as the followed the pattern of swirls on the wooden table. Every once in awhile he would mechanically lift the bottle to his lips, swallowing without tasting. "God, what's happened to him?"

Sam looked over at his brother, grimacing as he saw the lack of life. How could he explain it to her? God, he could barely believe it himself. Dean, his older brother, the rock that he could always lean on, was crumbling under the weight of guilt. Guilt that he was still alive. "I think he blames himself for what happened to Dad. Now he's pushing himself and hunting everything, anything in a twisted from of vendetta. He does it like it's going to bring him back."

She nodded slowly, comprehension dawning. "But he's slowly burning himself out."

"Yeah…yeah." Sam went to run his fingers through his hair, but felt all the odd angles. He felt a slight blush redden his cheeks as he tried to smooth his hair down, grinning sheepishly.

"And it's affecting you too, isn't Sam?" The corners of Sam's mouth pulled down suddenly, shifting from a grin to a frown as he shrugged. "Sam, you've got to help him. If he keeps on like this he's going to slip up somewhere, get himself killed. And you too if he continues to push y'all on like this."

"I know…I know…." Sam shook his head, wishing there was something that he could do. "But he won't let me help him; he pushes me away whenever I try to talk to him." _And when he does finally open, I don't know how the hell I should respond. _

At that moment a flash of blonde hair got Sam's attention as Jo stopped at the bar next to him. "Hello Sam. Mom, two beers please."

"Hey Jo," said Sam, sounding rather dejected.

"I thought tonight was your night off…" Ellen grabbed two bottles of beer and passed them across the bar, looking around as she tried to figure out who the other beer was for.

Jo rolled her eyes and pointed at the dark table and sullen man in the corner. "Thanks, see you later Sam."

"Hey, you gonna pay for those?"

"Put them on my tab!"

Sam watched her approaching Dean, arching an eyebrow at Ellen. She just chuckled as she started wiping down the bar. "I think my daughter has a thing for your brother. She asks about him all the time."

He groaned, remembering all of Dean's one-night stands and many relationships that don't end too well for the woman involved. "That might not be a good thing."

"C'mon Sam, Dean's a good guy, I don't think he would hurt her." She looked over at Jo, who was slowly, almost cautiously, approaching Dean.

"I hope he doesn't either."

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Jo grabbed the two bottles off of the counter and turned away before her mother could ask anymore questions.

"Hey, you gonna pay for those?"

"Put them on my tab!" she called back, aware that her tab was growing quite long. But right now, she didn't really care.

She had hoped that he would come back again someday. When she had first met him, he was still overcoming the first bouts of grieving. But that couldn't hide the charisma, the charm, and the smart ass that Dean was. Unlike most hunters, he didn't try to get in her pants just for the hell of it, even though she probably wouldn't have resisted. He told her under normal circumstances he probably would have, but that didn't matter. He was different from other hunters; he was smarter, and kinder.

"Hey Dean," she said softly, as if she was scared of disturbing him. When he glanced up her, she motioned with one bottle as a peace offering.

"What, no gun this time?" he tried to smile at his wisecrack, but it came out twisted and painful. He saw her hands clench the bottles in response to his terrible expression, so he dropped his eyes. "Sorry…you can sit if you want."

She sat down opposite him, pushing the empty beer bottle away from him and replacing it with one of hers. "How are you?"

Dean mechanically raised the fresh bottle to his lips, feeling the cool liquid slip down his throat. "Fine…you? Did you miss me?"

Jo found herself smiling, grinning at Dean. But he wasn't smiling back; he was staring down at his ring, his eyes missing their usual sparkle. "Well, maybe I did, maybe I didn't." He acted like he didn't hear her, so she reached out and grabbed the hand he was staring at, "What's wrong?"

He looked up at her, the confusion in his eyes telling her that he had forgotten all about her in that quick moment. "Uhh…nothing's wrong. I'm fine." He tried smiling reassuringly, but it was like his muscles refused to follow the instructions. Maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was the guilt.

She stared him down, glaring straight into his eyes until he couldn't take the intensity and dropped his gaze down to the table. A quiet sigh escaped her lips; he wasn't ready to talk…yet. Raising her beer to her mouth, she took a long swallow, bracing herself for a long wait.

The hours passed slowly and the beers passed fast, but Jo was there to replace them every time. They would pass an hour without saying a word, but then start swapping stories. Funny stories, sad stories, and some stories that were just incredibly random before lapsing into silence again. Jo kept waiting, waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to talk. She could see it in his eyes, in his expression, in the way he looked at everything yet saw nothing at all. Something was tearing him apart, slowly, agonizingly, and ruthlessly.

Dean knew that he shouldn't be drinking so much, that he should stay sharp. But each beer made the pain seem a little less real, a little less sharp. And every time he finished a bottle, Jo was there with another, providing him the one comfort they both knew was the only kind he would accept. He didn't understand why she was still with him, but he was thankful. She was better than Sam, who would pester him with questions and warnings, and she was a hell of a lot better than the silence of his thoughts.

The night started winding down, the customers started leaving. Dean glanced about with slightly glazed eyes, only a few more people lingered, his brother included. Sam was sitting at the bar, nose in a book. Dean chuckled; bringing his…what was it...eighth or ninth bottle…maybe, to his lips. He had lost track a long time ago, and really didn't care. But just before he could tip it back, he felt Jo's hand on his wrist, the slight pressure causing him to lower the bottle. "Dean…I think you've had enough." Her voice was slow and measured, making sure that he caught every word.

He sighed, but lowered the bottle anyway. "You can speak normal. I'm not drunk, not totally." Though he had let go of the bottle, her hand was still on his wrist, her fingers pressed tight against his skin. Maybe it was the touch of her hand, maybe the way she looked at him, her eyes gentle and compassionate. Maybe it was the beer. Whatever the cause, he felt the need to talk, and he knew if he were any more sober or any more drunk he would have said nothing at all. "It's all my fault."

She ran her fingers over his skin, feeling the hard, taut muscle. This was the moment she had been waiting for, the precise moment to get him to talk. "What is all your fault?"

He wanted to reach for that bottle, to try and drown just a little bit more. But her hand was firm on his, her eyes scrutinizing his face. "When I was in the hospital, after the accident, I was as good as dead. But then I make a literally miraculous recovery, and ten minutes later my Dad is dead and the Colt is gone. Don't tell me you don't find that the least bit suspicious!"

Jo stared at his face, the anger and the pain that was etched so plainly in his features was scaring the hell out of her. His eyes were welling with tears that he was fighting back with all his might, the muscle in his cheek was twitching wildly. "Dean…it's not your fault."

"The hell it isn't! I was dead Jo, and I should have stayed dead! Now my Dad is dead, the Colt and the demon are both missing and we have no way to track it." He slumped back into his seat, tilting his head back as if that would keep the tears from leaking out.

But it wasn't working; Jo could see the small trails running down the side of his face. She moved her seat over so that she was right next to him, taking his face in her hands and turning it towards her, gently wiping the tears away with her thumb. "You've been given a gift Dean. You've been given another chance at life."

He didn't wrench his face away from her; he didn't spit out some dumb wisecrack to ruin the moment. He just let the tears come, watching as she swam in his vision. "I got something that I don't deserve, and Dad is dead because of me! Now all I can do is kill every evil son of a bitch I can find."

"It's not your fault Dean!" She nearly screamed at him, wanting desperately to just get through to him. But she couldn't break through it, the survivor's guilt that was crushing him. "You can't hate yourself just because you lived!" Her words hit him, sliding off, unheard, like water running off of a stone cliff.

"What's dead should stay dead, Jo. I should have stayed dead." The words were pouring out of his mouth, tumbling over one another in their haste to get out. His voice was monotone, as if he was reciting a verdict made long ago and repeated over and over until it was etched into his brain.

For a moment her hand hovered it the air, trembling with suppressed anger. With a grunt, she released the pressure, smacking Dean in the face, the force of it causing his head to turn to the side, the sound of it reverberating in the sudden silence. "You're a bastard you know that?! Most people would be thankful that they got a second chance, and all you can do is wallow in self-pity. You disgust me."

Dean was staring down at the table, not daring to look her in the eye. His cheek stung like Hell, the pain leeching into his skin and rousing him from his stupor. Jo got up, leaving him there and storming out of the bar and into the back, gone from his sight. When Dean finally did look up, he saw that the bar was empty. Ellen was staring at him, her lips pursed tightly; Ash looking up from his drink in shock. Sam still held the book in one hand, the other poised to turn the page, frozen as he stared at his brother.

"Excuse me," he said, getting to his feet. For a second he felt woozy, the alcohol affecting him more than he expected. But years of training had taught him at least this, how to regain your equilibrium no matter what. Before the others could react he was striding across the room and through the door Jo had gone through.

He found himself in a small hallway, and followed it until he heard the sound of pacing and angry muttering from through the wall. He raised his hand to knock, but then thought better of it. Placing his hand on the doorknob he throw the door open without the slightest warning. "Jo…I'm sorry."

She stopped pacing, standing in the middle of the room, the anger making her delicate features seem all the more beautiful. Her room was small, but cozy. Dean's eyes drifted from the old dresser and dilapidated desk up against the wall to the bed, covered by a homemade comforter. Closing the door behind him, he crossed over to the bed, plopping down on it. "You're right…I am wallowing in self-pity. It's just…when my Dad disappeared, all I wanted to do was find him again. Get Sammy to join me and then we'd find him and we'd all be a family again. Not long after we did find him…he got himself killed all because of me."

Jo sat down beside him, the anger draining slowly from her as she saw the tears threaten. His shoulders were jerking convulsively, the movements of a man unused to crying, a man unused to showing any sort of emotion. "It's not your fault Dean-"

"No it is." He cut her off, the pleading look in his eyes that were moist cutting the rudeness of his words. "I was supposed to bring everybody back together, make us a family again, but I got him killed. He died for me."

She took his large hand in her small one, twining fingers with him, feeling his rough calluses against her softer palm. "Dean…there is no greater love than to lay down your life for those you love. If you three were really as fractured as you say, then there's the proof that were a family. Maybe your father isn't here with you now, but could he have proven his love for you any better? He valued your life above his, because you still have so much ahead of you. You're still young. Don't waste what he's given you."

Dean sat there, holding her hand and feeling her gently squeezing it. He drank in what she said, slowly digesting it as best as he could. "I know…I know. But with everything that he did, his life was so much more valuable than mine…"

Jo resisted the urge to smack him again, struggling not to yell. "So this is why you do it, huh? You try to kill everything and it makes you feel like the trade was worth it. But you can't kill everything. You'll just end up tiring out and getting yourself hurt…or worse."

"I know how to do my job," He said simply, not raising his voice in rage like with Sam. He was beyond anger, knowing only a gentle and quiet desperation.

She shifted so that he was looking right at her, his hazel-green eyes glued to hers. "Dean, I know that you can do your job. But you can't live it twenty-four-seven. Doing what you do, it could drive you mad. And it isn't the life that your Dad would want you to have; he would want you to be happy."

For a moment he sat there, trying to formulate the words. He was never the guy to wear his heart out on his sleeve, but here he was, spilling his darkest secrets to a girl he's only seen one time before. "Even if you're right, where do I start?"

"You just need something to live for." She slid over next to him, pulling him close. "I know you've lost a lot, and I can't give him back to you. But there is something I can give you." She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. For a moment he remained still, almost lifeless. But his hand lifted up and grabbed her shoulder, pressing her even farther into him as he parted her lips, deepening the kiss. The smell of stale beer filled her nostrils, but he still tasted sweet as he maneuvered her onto the bed, pinning her down with one arm. "Hmmm…is this a better place? A better time?"

"Much better," he murmured as she pulled his leather jacket off and tossed it on the floor beside the bed. He twisted, fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, trying to undo them as quickly as possible. His lethargy drained out of him, being replaced with a sudden surge of desire that took even him by surprise. But her body was soft and pliant against his, her mouth parted in a moan as he ran his hands over her.

For the first time in weeks, he forgot the guilt that had been slowly eating him away. He felt the desire to do something that didn't involve killing, something that required a tender touch and slow hand. For the first time since the death of his father, he allowed himself to get lost in the ecstasy.

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When Dean awoke he was alone in Jo's bed, the sunlight cutting a diagonal across the room, slicing across his face. He felt light, empty, and…happy. He felt like there was nothing wrong the world and that everything would be alright from now on. Sliding out from the bed, he reached for his clothes, taking his time getting dressed.

Walking back out to the bar, he found himself whistling. It wasn't a familiar tune, yet he felt as if he knew it. It wasn't Metallica, or AC/DC, but a simple, lilting tune, filled with hope and a peaceful, easy feeling. He opened the door and strode into the bar and found his brother sitting with Ellen, Ash…and Jo. "Morin' guys." He slid into the seat next to Jo, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Actually Dean, it's afternoon, late afternoon." Sam grinned at him, relief flooding through him. The dark circles under Dean's eyes were faded, and his eyes themselves seemed fully alert, and held their mischievous sparkle.

Dean glanced at Jo in surprise. "Afternoon?"

She shrugged against him, a smile tugging at her lips. "You seemed tired, so I decided to let you sleep. When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

His fingers were toying with her hair, twisting and twining with it. "I dunno, a while I guess."

"Well, I can certainly see that last night was…restful for the both of you," Ellen said, glancing between the two youngsters, an accusing glint in her eyes.

Jo glared at her; the determined set of her small mouth was a warning. "Yes, Mother, it was."

Grinning at his older brother, Sam decided to interject before things could get ugly. "Hey Dean, I heard there was a string a mysterious deaths a few towns over, right Ellen?"

Ellen looked at him in surprise, wondering why Sam was telling Dean about a possible hunt, especially when he made her promise not to tell him anything just the night before. "Yeah, it looks like the work of some sort of spirit. The people were murdered in their own houses, locked from the inside, and they were mutilated."

Dean's eyes held that calculating look, the sign that he was seriously thinking. San noticed with some relief that it wasn't the blind bloodlust that had been consuming Dean lately, but the calm, cool, and collected look of an experienced hunter. "So, if we leave now, we could probably get there before nightfall and do some investigating."

Holding up a plain folder, Sam was on his feet in an instant. "I've already got the directions."

Taking his time to disentangle his fingers from Jo's hair, Dean rose out of the chair. "Alright, whenever you're ready, Sammy."

"How bout right now?" He saw Dean's affirmative shrug, and turned to Ellen, saying, "Thanks for the place to stay for the night, we owe you one."

Ellen gave Sam a quick hug, squeezing his shoulders. "Watch out for him." She whispered in his ear, so low that only he could hear. In a louder voice as she pulled away, she said, "It was my pleasure. You don't owe me anything; just take care of this killer for us."

Dean flashed his million-dollar grin as she gave him a quick squeeze. "Yeah, and thanks for the beer."

Together the brothers walked out the door, both feeling a lot lighter than when they had entered less than twenty-four hours before. Before he reached the Impala, though, Dean felt a hand on his shoulder. "You will come back again, right?"

"Yeah, Jo, I'll be back as often as I can." He leaned down and locked his mouth on hers, feeling her hand slip around the back of his neck and holding him down. He pulled her against him, savoring the moment as long as he could. But like all good things, the kiss ended, with the promise of more to come. "See you Jo."

She stood there, the wind blowing her hair around her as he slid into the passenger's seat. "Take care of yourself Dean." He raised on hand in recognition, watching her in the rear view mirror as he drove away. Jo stood there, brushing the windswept hair out of her eyes, a small smile on her face. Then he rounded the corner, and she was gone.

Dean and Sam rode in silence for a long time; the only sound was the music blaring from the speakers. It was the heavy metal, loud almost to the point of atonal, music that Dean just loved to listen to, the pure energy rush, unforgiving, relentless, and full of life.

"So…" Sam finally said, breaking the strangely comfortable silence, "you and Jo?"

He spared his younger brother a quick glance before turning his gaze back to the road. "Yeah?" He asked, the tone of the one word saying, _And your point is??_

"Nothing, nothing at all." A moment silence filled the air, before Sam asked, his voice unusually quiet and tentative, "How are you doing?"

"I think I'll be fine Sammy, I really do."

_The End_


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